Passing over that endless diversity of disposition
which, in every day life, distinguishes one individual from another,
without being so marked as to excite much attention, one does
occasionally meet an oddity which stands out in prominent relief from
the plain surface of society—a something original, which does not seem
to be under the control of those principles which regulate the conduct
of others. In these instances, the peculiarities may be the most
amiable, or the most pitiable, or the most disgusting, or they may be
simply ludicrous; or, as it sometimes happens, the lights and shadows of
the individual's character may be so strongly contrasted as to excite a
strange mixture of feelings in the bosoms of those who contemplate it.
At times a man may be met with who seems to be seriously impressed with
the importance of religion, and who, apparently, takes a deep interest
in its ordinances and outward observances; while he cannot refrain from
cheating and oppressing his fellow-creatures, as often as an opportunity
for doing so, without incurring public odium, or the dread of positive
punishment, presents itself. Such a man may be chargeable with the most
sordid meanness, and the vilest duplicity, and yet, if a judgment were
to be formed from his conversation, he would be taken as a perfect model
of piety and resignation to the will of his Maker. On the other hand,
there are not wanting instances of individuals who give themselves
little concern about these matters, who regard with comparative
indifference the religious institutions and observances of the country,
and of whom it might almost be said, that " they cared for none of these
things;" ,yet, nevertheless, they may he strictly conscientious in their
dealings with others; they may also be generous to their friends,
benevolent to the poor, and in every other respect highly useful members
of society. These anomalous characters have long been sad puzzles in
mental science: nor does it appear that they could be accounted for upon
anything like rational grounds till a comparatively recent date, when it
was discovered that the brain was the apparatus, so to speak, with which
mind must work to produce an impression on matter— that this apparatus
consists of a number of different organs, the particular development of
any one of which, from the increased power which it gives to the mind in
that direction, will give a decided turn to the character, in the same
manner as a man can travel faster on a full-sized horse than on a small
pony; and farther, that each of these organs, under certain
circumstances and conditions, may act, in a great measure, independently
of the others. Upon this principle the eccentricities of, at least, one
of the characters about to be noticed in the following story may he
easily explained. As to the story itself, the incidents which it
embraces were communicated to its present narrator, several years ago,
by an acquaintance, who had himself been an eye-witness to some of them.
There being thus in it more of truth than fiction, the reader need
hardly expect to find there the plot, and that regular succession of
events, all combining to bring about some unlooked for result, which
constitutes the great charm of a work of fancy. But to it, such as it
is, we must now proceed.

"Auld Peter," as he was
commonly designated, once lived, and, for any thing which is known to
the contrary, may be still living in B------ Lane, in the city of
Glasgow. Though well advanced in years, as late as 1835, he was stout
and healthy; and, without being an extraordinary, he was in some
respects a peculiar, character. In youth, he had been bred a gardener.
This occupation he had followed through life, but, not being very
fortunate in procuring situations, for a number of years past he had
ceased to seek after them, and satisfied himself with cultivating the
gardens of a number of wealthy citizens who lived in his neighbourhood,
at so much per day, or per hour, according to the length of his job.

Three or four times every season, Peter might have
been seen swaggering home with "a sheet too much in the wind"— . that is
to say, he carried more sail than accorded exactly with his ballast, and
thus he sometimes lost the power of steering himself in the proper
direction. Just as he had come about to the starboard tack, he would
sheer off again to the larboard, and run upon it till he was fairly
aground in the quicksands of some gutter at the road side; or, if he
chanced to be in the country, till he stuck fast, not upon a rock, but
in a thorn hedge, or something else of the same kind, which impeded his
farther progress. On these occasions his " leeway" always made a
considerable item in the reckoning; and sometimes, after "lying to" for
more than a minute, instead of advancing to his destined port, he would
go "right astern!" In this respect, Peter resembled a steamboat, which,
by merely reversing the motion of her paddle-wheels, can go either way,
rather than a ship which can progress only with her head first.

Among other plans which Peter had tried to enable him
to meet this extra expenditure, and, if possible, to better his fortune,
one was the keeping of lodgers. These consisted exclusively of trades'
people, masons, wrights, etc. To them he was a kind landlord and from
his wife being unremitting in her care for their comfort, his beds were
seldom empty. In general matters he was remarkably indulgent: the little
faults and failings of those who sojourned with him he passed over
without notice, but in two particulars he was inclined to be rather
strict; and, inconsistent as it may seem, these were, that none of them
should get drunk, and that the whole should attend regularly
every night at family worship, or the reading, as he termed it
Whether he was himself drunk or sober, he could never rest satisfied
unless a portion of Scripture had been read, part of a psalm sung, and
what he considered an appropriate prayer offered up. When he chanced to
be in the former of these conditions, as might have been expected,
rather odd scenes sometimes occurred. While some verses of the chapter
which had been selected were read three or four times, others were
passed over with a long yawn. The singing was in general managed with
tolerable decorum, from being under the direction of another; but the
prayer, though offered up in tones which were really intended to be
solemn, was frequently like anything save what an address to the
Omnipotent and Omnipresent Ruler of the "Universe should be.

Another of Peter's foibles was card-playing: a pack
of cards was kept almost constantly lying on the table, and, as soon as
he came in from his day's work, it was his custom to get engaged in a
game with as many of his lodgers as could be persuaded to join in this
sort of dissipation. He made it a point, however, never to play for
money, in which, according to his idea of the matter, lay the whole of
the sin of card-playing : yet he was as zealous in his play as if the
winning or losing of a whole world had depended upon every game; and
when he chanced to be successful, he would have played on and on till
next morning without showing the slightest symptom of getting tired; but
when the tide of fortune happened to flow in a contrary direction, the
cards were thrown by at an early hour, and the Scriptures were called
for.

"D'ye hear," was his usual exclamation on these
occasions; "hand me the Bible that I may read and mak' preparation for
gaun to our beds in a reasonable time, like ither Christians."

With all these inconsistencies, Peter was not a
hypocrite, He believed in the truth of the religion which he professed;
and, though it could not restrain him from certain pieces of folly, in
other respects it had a considerable influence on his character and
manners. As already hinted, he was a laborious and hard working man; and
what was still more extraordinary, he possessed no inconsiderable share
of benevolence, and was ever ready to assist, as far as he possibly
could, those who were in distress.

Having thus described Auld Peter as he was about the
year 1835, we must now go back for the beginning of our story to an
earlier period of his history. While residing in the country, previous
to his marriage, he had become acquainted with a young woman, whom the
reader, for the present, must be pleased to call Susan Anderson. There
was nothing particular in their intimacy beyond what may be expected in
common intimacies of the kind—that is to say, Peter never spoke of love
to her in a direct form, though, perhaps, he might have been justly
charged with certain of those gallantries which some unmarried men
consider themselves called upon to display in the presence of every
female between the ages of fifteen and five-and-thirty. For several
years, however, he had not seen her: he was now married, had settled in
Glasgow, and his wife had brought him several children, when Susan one
day called on him with a child in her arms and tears in her eyes. Peter
welcomed her with all his natural kindness of disposition, and soon
began to inquire the cause of her distress.

Her story, which is only a counterpart to that of
thousands, was soon told. A sawyer, by name John, or, as he was more
commonly called, Jock Dempster, had pretended to be desperately in love
with her, and promised to make her his wife as soon as he could make the
necessary arrangements for their future comfort. She returned his
supposed affection with unsuspecting simplicity; but only a few months
had elapsed when he began to relax in his attentions, and to exhibit
evident symptoms of being tired of her company. Nor did matters long
remain thus: his next step was to collect those trifling sums of money
which were owing him for work in the neighbourhood, and set off
privately for Glasgow, where he no doubt expected to be free from any
farther annoyance which she might think of giving him. The reader need
scarcely be told that he was the father of her child—that she had traced
him with some difficulty to the above mentioned city, and that she had
now come to try if she could obtain that justice which the law awards in
cases like her own. Success as yet depended entirely on circumstances.
Among such an immense mass of human beings, innumerable difficulties
remained to be encountered in the way of discovering and securing him.
To obviate these, Peter did everything in his power, by giving his
advice and assistance almost unasked. He instructed her, in the best
manner he could, how to proceed, while his wife undertook to keep the
child till she could make the necessary inquiries. Thus befriended, she
commenced her search, and after a considerable time spent in questioning
the people about the timber yards, etc., she succeeded in procuring what
she deemed certain information concerning him. She had been previously
instructed by Peter not to make him aware of her presence till she had
provided herself with the means of preventing his flight; and her next
care was to procure two officers. With these she entered the room where
he was making merry with some boon companions, and, heedless alike of
his promises, entreaties, and threatenings, got him conveyed straight to
the gaol.

To all appearance, she had him now fairly in her
power: the evidence was too clear to admit of his denying the charge
which she brought against him, and the authorities of the place seemed
willing to enforce the law in her behalf, as far as that was
practicable. But with his confinement, aided, perhaps, by a conviction,
that the cause was one in which he was likely to be worsted, the
obduracy of his heart began to melt; he appeared once more to
entertain a sense of right and wrong, and to be willing to do justice to
the victim of his previous misconduct. This change of sentiment was
carefully paraded, before Susan, who still continued to visit him in the
prison, and to try, with feminine feeling, to make him more comfortable
in his solitude, while she herself lodged with Peter, whose wife kept
her child when she was abroad upon these expeditions. The thing had, if
we may so speak, its desired effect: won over by these signs of
contrition, which he was so careful to exhibit, and his promises to make
ample restitution for the evil he had done, she consented to his
liberation, and immediately put a stop to all farther proceedings
against him.

For one day she had the pleasure of enjoying her
triumph, and lived in the hope that he would deal honourably with her at
last. But, in the language of the inspired penman, " If the Ethiopian
change his skin, and the leopard his spots, then may they that are
accustomed to do evil learn to do well." When evening came, he pretended
some business with a former master which would detain him for half an
hour; she had now no suspicion as to the integrity of his
intentions, and he was permitted to go without a word. But his
resolution had been already taken: at the end of two days he had not
returned, and Susan was once more left to lament the facility with which
she had listened to his vows of repentance, and believed his faithless
promises.

After several days more spent in what at first
appeared to be fruitless inquiries, she ascertained, that on the morning
after leaving her, he had been seen on the road to Edinburgh, in which
place, or in Leith, it was supposed he again intended to seek a
concealment from the woman he had wronged. She had already spent nearly
the whole of the little money she could command in paying officers'
fees, etc., to get him arrested, and in treating him after he was set at
liberty; but she still entertained the idea, that if she could discover
him once more, she would profit by the lessons she had previously
received, and not let him go so easily again. Peter and his wife were
still willing to befriend her, and leaving her child to their care, and
taking with her a small sum of money, which she had borrowed from them,
she set off a second time in pursuit of the fugitive.

There are some individuals, whose ideas of gratitude
and propriety will stand the test for a length of time, and, in
moderately favourable circumstances, they may maintain a fair reputation
for consistency and good conduct through life; but when severe trials
come, and temptations follow each other in close succession, they lack
that stern and unbending principle which prompts to virtuous
perseverance, even in the midst of the most gloomy prospects; and it is
no uncommon thing to see them giving way to expediency, or what they are
pleased to think necessity, and yielding in the end to profligacy and
ruin. To this class Susan seems to have belonged; for she never
returned.

The boy, thus left without father or mother to care
for him, was named Jock Dempster, after the first mentioned parent.
During the helpless years of infancy, Peter's wife nursed him with
almost as much care as she did her own children; and as he grew up, for
a length of time, he experienced from Peter himself nearly the same
treatment as if he had been a legitimate member of the family. At the
proper age he was sent to school, and from the time which he spent
there, he might have been a tolerable proficient in reading,
writing, and arithmetic; but he would not learn, and in his eleventh or
twelfth year he was, at best, but a sorry dabbler in the whole of these
sciences. About this time he was also encouraged to try various sorts of
common labour, by which, had he been so inclined, he might have
afterwards earned his bread. To sum up the matter in a few words, he
was, in most respects, treated more like a son than the son of a
stranger; but somehow, there was from the beginning a marked difference
between him and the other children of the family.

Common experience teaches us, that the parents often
communicate a very considerable share of their looks and personal
appearance to their offspring; and a closer scrutiny would almost lead
to the belief, that along with these, in some instances, they also
transmit many of their habits and propensities. Be this as it may, Jock
showed a decided aversion to everything like close employment, in which
respect he exactly resembled his father, who never wrought steadily, but
only when he was driven to it by necessity. Almost from infancy he had
been noted for smooth-tongued falsehood, and a very great proficiency at
framing excuses for all sorts of errors and misdemeanors; and here again
the reader need not be reminded how much of the same disgraceful
qualities one of his parents had exhibited in his conduct toward the
other. As he advanced in life, and began to earn trifling sums for
little jobs which he was occasionally compelled to perform, he always
manifested a greater inclination to steal away and spend them in the
taverns and ale-houses, than to supply them to any useful purpose.
Numbers of little things were also, from time to time, amissing in the
neighbourhood, and could never afterwards be discovered. At first, some
doubts were entertained as to what could have become of them; but by and
by evidence began to appear of Jock's being tarry-fingered as
well as slippery-tongued. As these habits became better known, he
began to acquire a very bad fame in the immediate vicinity of his
fo3ter-father's dwelling; very few cared for being much in his company,
and this compelled him to seek his associates at a greater distance.

Among other places which he frequented, there were
some houses on the outskirts of the town, in one of which lived a woman
called Margaret Thompson, who had been lately married. For her he had,
somehow or other, performed some little services, and, though she had
heard rumours of his character, and did not greatly like him, she still
considered herself bound to receive him with common civility. Among her
neighbours, there was a girl named Jenny Stewart, who, when very young
had learned the art of weaving with her father, after which she had
spent several years in the country at service; but that parent having
died some time ago, she had returned, and now supported herself and her
widowed mother by her exertions at the loom. With her Jock had frequent
opportunities of meeting in his visits to Margaret Thompson; and
being both about the same age, and having arrived at that period when
young persons of different sexes are apt to contract a sort of regard
for each other, which, though not exactly love, is nevertheless nearly
akin to it, they soon seemed to become mutually attached. Jock's real
sentiments it was impossible to fathom; but Jenny was, at least,
sincere in her friendship, and while almost every one else looked upon
him as "a ne'er-do-weel," she still continued to regard him with pity,
if not with affection.

Jock, however, did not seem destined to reign over
the heart of the orphan girl without a rival. Shortly after their
acquaintance commenced, a young lad called Robert Thompson, who was a
cousin of Margaret's, after having spent some years with a farmer in the
country, returned to the place of his nativity for the purpose of
learning the art of weaving. As was natural, he became a visitor at his
relation's, and there he, too, saw, and soon seemed to like, Jenny
Stewart. This circumstance produced a sort of rivalry between the men,
or boys, whichever the reader chooses to call them; and, as might have
been expected, increased the attentions of both as often as they could
find an opportunity of bestowing them apart. It also made Jock more
careful, for the time, to conceal his misdeeds, and more assiduous in
his endeavours to appear amiable in her eyes. Had the object of these
attentions been one of those mixtures of littleness and levity, who can'
never be in love with anything save admiration, such' an occurrence
would have only increased her vanity, and, perhaps, made her alike
indifferent to both. But, young as she was, she had a heart already
formed for an exclusive attachment; and, unfortunately for herself, in
the present instance, the kindness and attention of her last come
admirer only made her cling more closely to the first, who was,
unquestionably, by far the most worthless of the two.

Matters stood thus when Jock had reached his
seventeenth year, and Peter, who hitherto had afforded him a home, as
well as a considerable portion of his victuals, insisted on his betaking
himself to some regular employment, by which he might provide honourably
for his own wants; and, to stimulate him onward in the path of
duty, fairly refused to shelter him any longer unless he did so. Jock
pleaded hard for another week to consider as to what line he would
adopt, and this was granted. But, instead of improving it by making
preparations for active exertion, he continued to lounge idly from place
to place as he had done before, and when the last days of his reprieve
from toil were drawing to an end, he began to dream of going to America,
where he had heard of people making large fortunes, and where he
expected no doubt to do the same. This, however, he intended to keep a
profound secret till he was on the point of sailing, or, perhaps, till
he had sailed altogether for that country; and to raise money to
pay his passage was now the prime object of his cogitations. As a first
step on the road to realising the necessary sum, he contrived to obtain
an interview with Jenny Stewart, and by telling her a long and pathetic
story about the ill-usage he had received from Peter, and his
determination to leave the house of that individual immediately, if he
could only procure as much as would purchase a few tools with which to
work for himself, and something over to support him till he could earn i
fortnight's wages, he easily persuaded her to go to the master for whom
she wrought and take up the price of the web upon which she was then
employed for the purpose of giving it to him. In this speculation he was
completely successful: he was now master of £1 8s., and with £1
12s. more he expected to be able to effectuate his purpose. His next
attempt was, if possible, of a still less honourable kind. Margaret
Thompson had a favourite game cock, for which, if he could lay his hands
on him quietly, he believed he would make certain of from eight to ten
shillings; and with the intention of trying to " wrest the proud
bird from his perch," he continued to linger about the premises till the
whole of the neighbours were in bed, and, as he fancied, fast asleep.
His movements, however, had, unknown to him, been observed by his rival,
who, judging that Jenny Stewart was the object of them, determined to
watch him; and, just as he had brought chanticleer forth from a hole in
the thatch, which he had made for the purpose— grasping the feathered
prey firmly around the neck to prevent noise—he found himself in the
hands of Robert Thompson, who, in personal strength, was more than a
match for him.

"Sae, this is the way ye contrive to mak your
living," said the captor; "but as ye dinna seem inclined to work, I maun
try if I can lessen your expenses by getting free lodgings for ye." As
he spoke these words, he gave him a slap on the face with his open hand,
and a severe shake, neither of which boded any good will; but in
performing the last mentioned operation, his foot slipped, and, to
prevent himself from falling, he was compelled to let go his grasp.
Jock, when at liberty, was as much an overmatch for his antagonist in
speed, as his antagonist would have been an overmatch for him in
strength; and, once free, he did not fail to make the best use of his
heels. He was, however, perfectly aware, that he had now committed a
crime—namely, that of housebreaking and theft—which would subject him to
public odium, and that the fact of his being thus guilty was known to
one who would make no secret of it. His plan of raising money, with
which to pay his passage to America, was, moreover, at an end ; he had
no reason to suppose that his former benefactor would again take him in;
and such was the impression made upon his mind by these comfortless
reflections, that he went, hot foot, to the quarters of a recruiting
sergeant, and immediately enlisted.

He had now engaged with masters who had the power of
enforcing obedience to their wishes, and from their employment, however
hard or disagreeable it might be, there was no escaping. "We have no
intention, however, of following him through his drillings and drubbings
for awkwardness, or of giving a history of his soldiership. Suffice it
to say, that several years passed quietly away, and the neighbours, who
at first considered themselves well quit of him, had begun to forget
that such a creature had ever been among them, when, in 1835, he again
made his appearance, in all the pride of a military costume, and with
all the airs of a finished soldier.

"By having done some services for the Cwrnal,"
he said, "he had got a furlo, and he didn't know how he could spend it
better than by coming down to see his father and mother, and all them
people who had been so kind to him when he was a lad."

Auld Peter, to whose habitation he went directly, and
who had now forgotten the greater part of his former misconduct, was
once more ready to receive him with open arms, and to treat him with the
best the house could afford. Upon his former benefactor he bestowed the
parental appellation with almost every alternate sentence: it even
seemed that he paraded the words father and mother more
frequently than the occasion required, and, indeed, a great deal oftener
than a real relationship would have warranted. But at this piece of
ostentation Peter did not appear to be at all offended: he saw that his
outward man was greatly improved, he hoped that a corresponding change
had been effected in his conduct, and he was willing to believe him when
he asserted that he was perfectly reformed.

"I have entirely given up drinking, and all them lpw
things," said he. "I never tastes a single glaas now; and I can
assure you, the Curnal is anxious to have me made a
non-commissioned officer as soon as possible, but somehow the thought of
it doesn't agree with me."

As he began to feel moderately certain of being once
more established in their good graces, Jock amused the family with a
great many accounts of his escapes and exploits since he became a
soldier, some of which bordered on the miraculous, if not on the
incredible; but they all did their best to believe them, and that
evening 'was a happy one with Auld Peter. The following day was Sunday,
and to grace the stranger, some extras had been provided for the tea,
which, on these occasions, formed the usual family breakfast. The
bread, in particular, was to be toasted and buttered, and Jock at once
volunteered his service to cut it into slices of a fashionable
thickness. At first he proceeded with his self-imposed task in perfect
silence, appearing to display great dexterity, but ever and anon casting
a glance on either side to see if he was observed. He was evidently
fishing for a little praise, but somehow no one thought of taking the
bait, and when he could contain himself no longer, he stopped work, and
looking toward the family, "Don't you see," he said, "how neatly I can
do them things now?"

"Whatten things?" was Peter's brief reply, couched in
words which made it also a question.

"Cutting the brade, I mean," said Jock: "don't
you think I can do it better now, than when I went away? We're larned
to do all them things neatly in the ragememt you know."

"Unco right," rejoined Peter; "but I guess, if
onybody would learn me the way to get siller to buy bread, I could e'en
cut it. as I've done afore, without muckle learnin !" This settled the
matter for the present, and Jock soon after gave evidence that he was,
at least, as great a proficient at eating bread, as he was at
cutting it.

Notwithstanding his previous professions of perfect
reformation, on the Monday following he contrived to persuade one of
Peter's sons to accompany him to a public-house, where they spent the
greater part of the day ; and when they returned in the afternoon, it
was evident that they had both imbibed more proof spirits than prudence.
Auld Peter, as the reader will recollect, was sometimes inclined to
judge less charitably of the failings of others than of his own; in
particular, he disliked to see any inmate of the dwelling—himself always
excepted—in a state of intoxication; and at this piece of conduct he
appeared to be rather offended. Albeit he had no objection to a dram
himself, he could not brook the idea of any of his sons becoming
drunkards; and when he considered how a very small beginning may
sometimes lead to a fatal ending, he began to look coldly on his
red-coated guest. The latter appeared to have some notion of what was
passing within him, and more than half maudlin as he was, he strove with
great assiduity to obliterate the unfavourable impression which his
misconduct had made on the heart of his entertainer.

"I would be very sorry to do any of them things which
you don't agree with, my dear father," said he. "But I only meant to
give my brother here a glaas out of pure respect. Had it not been
out of respect to him, and to the house where he was born, and out of
love to yourself, my dear father, I wouldn't have never set my foot in
one of them publics; for I doesn't like them at all."

"Ye had better gi'en him some ither thing than a
glass,'' said Peter shortly, "or keepit your respect for him, an' your
love for me to yoursel', till a better opportunity for showing them came
round."

Jock did not drop the matter here; as the effects of
the liquor wore off, he made repeated attempts to establish himself
again in the good opinion of his host; but from the thoughtful
expression which his countenance at times assumed, it was evident he had
begun to fear that his reign in .the affections of Peter, and the time
which he could saddle himself upon his hospitality were both drawing to
a close.

Next morning he did not appear at the usual hour, and
when breakfast was ready, thinking that he had lain too long in bed,
some of the family went to tell him that it was time to rise. The bed,
however, was empty, and the bed-clothes cold; but this excited little
surprise, and no alarm. It was simply concluded that he had risen and
gone out before the other members of the family were astir. Had they
ever suffered from the visits of "the nightly thief," this circumstance
might have caused some suspicion, or it might have produced an immediate
examination to see that all was safe; but hitherto their property had
been providentially protected from all attempts of the kind; long
security has a tendency to lay vigilance asleep; and, to make them yet
more secure, they knew that the whole of the chests, drawers, etc., in
the house were locked, and they saw the keys hanging safely, where they
had hung for many a year in the corner of one of the beds. Not a single
thought ever crossed, their minds of anything, being wrong, and when, at
breakfast time, one of the lodgers asked "What had hecome of Jock?"

The forenoon passed, and the dinner hour was
approaching, when Peter, finding that he must call upon some individuals
belonging to the better class, came home to dress himself in a manner
befitting the occasion. But what was his surprise when on going to his
chest to take out his clothes, he found it awept of everything valuable,
and left with only a few half-worn garments lying at the bottom ! A
farther search was made, the other repositories of the house were
instantly examined, and, to the utter dismay of Peter and his wife, they
found them in the same condition. Chests, drawers, and all, had been
ransacked—nothing had escaped either the eye or the ingenuity of the
depredator; and scarcely a single article of wearing apparel,
which was at all respectable, had been left within the door. Peter
himself was in what has been called a peck of troubles, and when
the lodgers returned to their dinners, his wife was wringing her hands
in the hitterest distress.

"What's the matter now?" inquired one of them.

"Matter enough," was her reply. "That villain—that
scoundrel—that sodger Jock—the foul fiend rive the heart out o' him!—if
he hasna robbit the house o' every rag worth carrying awa',
either last night or this morning. No ae steek has he left Peter or the
laddies to pit on their backs—deil gae wi' him, and may he break ilka
bane in his bouk, and his neck to the bargain the first time he gangs
out-ower the door—Lord forgi'e me; for I dinna ken what I'm sayin'. But
surely he's the greatest blackguard that ever set a croun to the lift,
to come an' rob them wha had done sae muckle for him !"

From such an examination and valuation as could be
made at the moment, it appeared that he had carried off clothes and
other articles, equal in worth to hetween six and seven pounds. To
people in easy circumstances, this might have been a small matter, but
to those who could only provide for their daily wants, in the natural
order in which they occurred, by their daily earnings, it involved
something nearly akin to ruin. Still no one knew what to do for the
recovery of the lost property, or where to look for the thief. So
secretly and so ingeniously had he managed his nocturnal operations,
that he had left no trace behind him; and not the slightest hope of a
discovery could be indulged, till one of Peter's lodgers, more acute
than the rest, happened to think of an attempt to waylay him at the
coach-offices.

"If he had disposed of the property," this individual
argued, "he must have waited till the brokers' shops were open, in which
case he could not leave the town till the day was considerably advanced;
while, on the other hand, if he intended to take it along with him, some
time for packing would be necessary, and some conveyance would be
required to carry it to its destination; so that in either way there was
a chance of finding him among the passengers of the afternoon coaches."

This idea was acted upon without delay: inquiries
were made at the various coach offices, and it was soon ascertained that
an individual, answering exactly to his description, had paid for a seat
in one of these vehicles running between Glasgow and Edinburgh. The
necessary steps for having him arrested were immediately taken: a strict
watch was kept, and it was expected that he must now fall into the snare
which was laid for him; but, from having understood, as was supposed,
that his person was in request, he never came to occupy the seat for
which he had paid, and the coach started at the appointed time without
him. The circumstance, however, gave evidence that he was still in the
town; a close search was instituted, and next morning he was
apprehended, in the company of a female of indifferent fame, in one of
those dens of prostitution and crime, of which, sad to say, there are
but too many in our country. It is almost superfluous to say that he was
forthwith conveyed to prison; but still not the slightest evidence could
be found by which to criminate him. The property had indeed been
stolen—that was clearly proved— but beyond the mere circumstance of his
having left the house clandestinely, at an early hour in the morning,
there was not even a presumption of his being the thief; and, though no
one seemed to doubt his guilt, the chances appeared to be as a hundred
to one that he would escape after all.

It is hard, however,' for the evil doer to elude at
every turn the consequences of his crimes; in one way or other
punishment generally finds him out. The supposed culprit appeared to
have plenty of money in his pocket, and, thus provided, he easily found
means to procure a supply of spirits, with which, during the time that
elapsed between his being taken into custody, and his being brought
forward to answer for his conduct, he made so free that, when his
examination came on, he was completely drunk; and the magistrate,
before whom he appeared, ordered him to be remanded to prison till the
following day. While staggering through the passages of the jail, to the
apartment in which he had been previously confined, his bonnet fell off,
and, as it rolled on the floor, a pair of braces fell out! Had he been
sober, or if he had known that his examination would come on so soon,
these were articles which he would have, no doubt, been more careful to
conceal; but his love of liquor, and consequent intoxication, had
prevented him from managing this part of the matter with his usual
circumspection. Drunk as he was, he tried to recover the braces,
however, and to thrust them into his bonnet again, with an eagerness
which excited the suspicions of his conductors. By these they were
immediately secured, and sent to Peter's family to see if they had been
among the articles which were amissing; and thus the means of convicting
a profligate and unprincipled villain of one crime were supplied by his
indulgence in another. The braces were instantly identified, and sworn
to as having belonged to Peter. A farther search was made, and before
the infatuated soldier had recovered from the effects of his potations,
some other articles were found upon his person, which served as
incontestable proofs of his guilt. These, as it appeared, he had
reserved from the spoil for his own particular use, and in so doing,
with that infatuation which not un-frequently clings to evil doers, he
had kept about him the silent witnesses of his crime.

When they were produced on the following day as so
many evidences of the charge brought against him, and he was asked what
he had to offer in his own defence, "I can offer nothing," was his
reply, "but as how I was insulted the night before, and as I didn't like
to take them sort of things without showing that I had some spirit, I
went off next morning, and I picked up them articles in the dark,
instead of some of my own, which were worth twice as much."

When asked how he could account for the door being
opened, when the key was on the inside, and so much property removed by
one who was unacquainted with the house: "Please your honour," said he,
with a degree of cool effrontery which seemed to surprise even the
Judge, "when as how it happens that a theft is committed, all the
innocent men in the country are not called upon to account for them
things ; and I cannot account for it, but as how the thief might
have come after I went away." When told that the circumstance of his
going away, and leaving the door of the house open under night, was in
itself a crime punishable by law, he appeared for the first time rather
at a loss what to say.

Without following him farther the foregoing may serve
as a specimen of his manner of pleading, which was such a mixture of
evasive impudence and cunning as to show that he was by no means new to
the trade. All would not do, however; the examination was patiently and
impartially conducted to an end, and when it concluded he was sentenced
to sixty days' imprisonment, with the usual fare, bread and water; and
the punishment of his past crimes seemed at last to have found him out.
But at first he had money in his pocket, and with this auxiliary his
natural disposition for trick enabled him to devise the means of
mitigating, in various ways, the rigour of his sentence. His finances,
however, at last failed, and then he was completely miserable; but to
the no small surprise of his fellow-prisoners, who knew no means which
he could have for obtaining it, before the term of his confinement
expired, he again appeared to be in possession of the wherewithal;
and when liberated he was able to get drunk before leaving Glasgow
to join his regiment, which was then lying in Edinburgh.

While he went on his way "glorying in his shame,"
Jenny Stewart was seen returning to her home with a look of thoughtful
sadness strongly depicted on her countenance.

"Ye'r looking ill the day, Jenny," said Margaret
Thompson, who chanced to come up to her.

"Maybe I am," was Jenny's brief reply.

"I've been vext for you aye since I heard it,"
rejoined the other; "for it's a sad thing for a weel doing lass to tak
up her head wi' the like o' him."

"The like o' wha?" inquired the young woman, with an
evident increase of anxiety, but without blushing.

"Dinna, be angry," said the other, "for I'm only
saying what I've heard ither folk say; and dinna think," she added with
a degree of unaffected sympathy in her voice, which did not escape the
notice of her listener—"dinna think that I want to laugh at your
misfortunes, or triumph ower you in your distress; for e'en when ye was
a lassie, I didna like to see that ne'er-db-weel Jock Dempster come sae
muckle about you; and since he came back wi' his red coat, an' his
fool's cap, to steal Auld Peter's claes, and folk began to notice that
ye was concerned about him, and to say that ye was in love wi' him, I've
felt mair on your account than I can tell."

"I'm no in love wi' him," said Jenny emphatically,
and still no blush crossed her cheek,—"I'm no in love wi' him: we had
only some acquaintance when we were baith young."

"Ah Jenny, Jenny!" rejoined the other, "ye'r just
acting the part I've acted mysel'; but if ye would only tell me the
cause o' your present distress, I would never mention it to anither, and
it would maybe lighten your heart."

Jenny was at once won over by the deep sympathy which
her friend thus evinced, and, without farther hesitation, though not
without a good deal of embarrassment, she went on to make a candid
confession of her own feelings and motives.

"I'm no in lov.e with him noo," she began; but I maun
confess I likeit his company better than ony ither body's afore he gaed
to the sodgers. In spite o' a' the ill things I heard about him, I aye
thought he had a wark wi' me, and that I would be able to persuade him
to do better some time, sooner or later. And when he came to me wi' a
story about the ill usage Auld Peter had gi'en him, and said that he
meant to do for himsel' noo, I canna tell ye how happy I felt; for I
thought the time had come when he would gi'e ower his wierdless ways,
and, to encourage him, I e'en gied him siller that I should hae keepit
to provide for my poor frail mither. But a' wouldna do, and aff he gaed
an' left me. And even after he was awa', it aye pleased me, somehow, to
mind about the hours we had spent thegither; and mony a time I've stown
out my lane to think upon him. Aweel, he came back, and he never thought
o' coming to speer for me, though my mither was dead, and I was left
maist without a freend. And then he stealt Auld Peter's claes, and I saw
that it was a' ower wi' him; but still when he sent word to me that he
was starvin', and sought siller to help to keep him leevin', I couldna
refuse him a' I had. But what was war than a' .that, and what mak's my
heart sair to think on't, noo when it is past, he persuaded me to meet
him, and to gie him the last shilling I had in the world after he was
set free,—no that I regard the siller, but the shame o' hein' seen in
sic company."

"Aweel," rejoined the other, "I can hardly blame ye,
when I consider the regard ye ance had for him. But I hope ye've now
gi'en ower a' thoughts o' keepin' up a correspondence wi' him, or ever
bein' sibber to him than ye are."

"May God, wha kens my heart, keep me frae ever bein'
conneckit wi' sic a man!" ejaculated Jenny. "And, so far from having ony
thoughts o' the kind, I'm sae ashamed o' my ain simplicity, and the
cracks it has occasioned, that, if I could get a place, I would gang
whaur I was never seen on earth afore, to be out o' the gait! "

"I'm glad to see you that way mindit," said Margaret;
"and I think I can maybe help you a little to the accomplishment o' your
wishes. My cousin Bob, wha, as ye ken, was at farm-service afore he
learned the weaver-trade, has grown tired o' the loom, an' he's gaun to
a place ca'd Double Dykes, mair than twenty miles frae this. But that's
no what I was gaun to tell ye. The foreman—a freend o' his mither's—when
he greed him, bade him send word if he could hear o' a steady lass, wha
would engage for a year to work i' the house. Now, ye've been at service
already, and ken a' about it, and ye've only to say that ye'll tak the
placej and I'se warrant it's yours."

Jenny sighed deeply, and almost seemed as if she
would have said, "I've been insensible to the merits, and the kindness
o' your cousin ower lang." She did not say so, however, but she seemed
well pleased with the prospect of obtaining a situation at a distance
from her present residence, in the neighbourhood of which, as she said,
she was now ashamed to be seen.

While these things were going on, the conduct of Jock
Dempster had become so consistently and uniformly bad as to attract in a
particular manner the notice of his officers. After having pardoned many
of his minor offences, and tried in vain to reclaim him, by flogging and
other expedients, it was at last resolved, in a court-martial, to
inflict on him the last and most degrading punishment which can be
offered to a soldier; and he was accordingly, with due formality,
drummed out of his regiment! This to him would have been a light
matter had he been acquainted with any means by which he could support
himself without labour. Labour of all sorts he mortally hated, and, to
avoid the distressing alternative of adopting it, he began to look
around for those upon whose simplicity he might successfully prey—in
other words, he began to look about for individuals whom he might dupe
into the belief that he was a legitimate object of charity, and thus
extort from them the means of living in idleness as long as possible.
His first plan was to pretend that he was a deserter, and that a party
of soldiers were close upon his heels to capture and convey him back to
his regiment again, where, he said, he would have to undergo so many
lashes, that he would a thousand times rather be shot than fall into
their hands. To give an appearance of truth to this story, he had
contrived to daub the letter D upon his breast, with some sort of black,
or rather brown colouring, so as to resemble the burnt mark which is
commonly bestowed on individuals thus disgraced for their first
offence—his, as he pretended, being the second. Another method by which
he frequently tried to extort charity was to secrete his clothes at some
distance from a village or farm, dressing himself the while in a parcel
of rags, which he carried for the purpose, and when he came to the
place, by affirming that his habiliments had been nearly torn from his
back while running through plantations and among rocks to escape his
pursuers, he often succeeded in inducing benevolent individuals to give
him a complete supply of such garments as came first to hand. These
again he never failed to dispose of for what they would bring with the
first favourable opportunity. It were almost an endless task to give an
account of all the devices to which he had recourse.

Suffice it to say that by such arts he contrived to
live like a gentleman for several weeks, making the most of the road
wherever he went; and proceeding slowly the while toward Glasgow, where
he no doubt expected to be able to dupe some of his former acquaintances
more effectually than he had hitherto done.

A few hours after he reached the scene of his early
exploits, he met his earliest benefactor on one of the bridges, and one
might have thought he would have been ashamed to look him in the face.
But, no!—he hesitated not a moment to address him with the greatest
familiarity, and the greatest apparent ease. "My dear father," said he,
"I am glad I have seen you! I trust we shall yet be friends, in spite of
all them things which are past, and if my misfortunes were over, T am
sure I could show you how dearly I love you." He was on the point of
beginning to tell the story of his feigned misfortunes, but he already
saw that it would be in vain. Auld Peter was not one of those who could
be twice taken in the same snar£, and he passed on without once
appearing to notice the individual who.thus addressed him, or even to be
aware of his presence. The other cast a rather rueful look after him,
and then sheered off in a different direction. This was the last meeting
of Auld Peter and his foster son—as such we have mentioned it—and, so
far as is known, he never heard of him afterwards. Heard of, however, he
was, and in what manner it must now be our task to tell.

Shortly after the above mentioned occurrence, Robert
Thompson, whose going to Double Dykes has been already noticed,
accompanied Jenny Stewart as she went to the cowhouse in the evening to
milk the cows ; and almost as soon as they were safely housed
beside these animals, "My heart," said he, "has boded some mischief a'
this afternoon."

"I'll tell ye that enoo," was his reply. "We were but
a short time yokit, when that ill-looking sinner, Peter Hepburn, as he
ca's himsel', came to me pretending that he wantit to see the master;
and, when I tell'd him he wasna at hame, he speer'd a' about him—whaur
he was, and whether we expectit him hame the night? Now, I'm fjar
cheatit if he dinna ha'e an e'e after the siller the master gat by hjs
aunty. They say he has keys about him that will open ony lock in a' the
parish; and, if that be true, how easy might he find his way to the
master's writing desk, and pouch the siller, when you and the mistress
are fast asleep, and no ane ken "what time he did it, or whether it was
him or no!"

"That's terrible!" said Jenny, rising up from the cow
she had just begun to milk, "that's terrible," she repeated; "but do you
really think Peter Hepburn is a character o' that kind?"

"If a' be true that's said, he has done as ill
already," was the answer. "And forbye, they say the woman he lives wi',
though she has had twa or three bairns to him, is no his wife; and that
doesna look very like an honest man."

"No like an honest man indeed!" said Jenny, with a
feminine sense of delicacy, and the treatment which her sex had a right
to look for in these connections. "Na, na—that settles the matter, and
after that he is fit for onything! But what can we dae noo?"

"That's no a' yet," continued her companion: "a short
time after he left us, wha d'ye think comes across the field but youi'
auld acquaintance Jock Dempster! He didna come to me, however, but gaed
to the hauflin when I was tillin' a headrig on the tither side o' the
hedge, and tell'd him a lang story about desertin' frae the sodgers, and
the sodgers being' after him to tak' him again. And then he sp'eer'd if
he could get a nicht's lodgin's about the toun, and when the hauflin
tell'd him that the master was frae hame lookin' after his aunty's
effects, and that the mistress never quartered gangrels, he said he
couldna help it. And then he speer'd a' about you, and about the house,
and whether there was a wa' between it and the auld hay-loft; and
when the hauflin tell'd him that it was just plaistered, he said the
house would surely be cauld. I keepit out o' his sight as weel as I
could; I'm maist sure he disna ken that I'm here. But what think ye o'
a' this?"

"I dinna ken what to think," was Jenny's reply.
"But I hope he'll never come back."

"Dinna trust ower muckle to that," rejoined her
companion. "It's maybe shootin' at far marks, but, if I'm no mista'en
again, him and Peter Hepburn are either to work to ane anither's hands,
or else, ilka ane for himsel', about the siller; and I wou'dna wonder if
they were baith back the nicht; for Jock is as fit for takin' a purse as
preachin' a sermon, and as likely to fill a halter as an honest man's
bannet!"

Though it was not without some reason that the young
man had hazarded these conjectures, besides his care for his master's
property, he had perhaps a secondary object in view—namely, that of
establishing his own sagacity and penetration in Jenny's eyes, together
with the concern which he felt for her safety. Whatever had been his
intention, the starting nerves and terrified looks of the maiden, along
with the hints which she gave, that she would not remain another hour at
Double Dykes unless the whole of the men about the place kept her
company, gave evidence of extreme agitation; and it was now his task to
soothe rather than to excite her fears.

"Dinna terrify yoursel', Jenny," he said tenderly,
and as he spoke he pressed her shoulder with his hand, which, as if
instinctively, began, by slow degrees, to "slip round her neck," till,
in the words of Burns, "his loof" was fairly upon her bosom." "'Dinna
terrify yoursel'," he again repeated, "and ye may trust to a' the
assistance I can gi'e ye. But ye ken the mistress is nervous, and, in
her present state, if we were to raise an alarm it might be as muckle as
her life is worth. Sae never ye leet a word about the matter, and
I'll keep watch mysel' and warn the rest o' the men to the bargain; and,
if the rogues come, they'll maybe no win sae easily awa' as they reckon
on."

With some farther persuasion Jenny consented to adopt
this plan; and though she started several times when the kitten
made a noise by running across the floor, and, oftener than once, when
the wind made a hollow moaning sound in the branches of the old tree at
the end of the house, listened attentively to make certain that it was
not human voices, nothing occurred to disturb the quiet till toward bed
time, when she thought she heard a foot at the kitchen window, •which
chanced to be uncovered, and then a gentle rap at the door. With
trembling limbs and a beating heart she went to ask who was there, and
her more serious apprehensions were soon dissipated by the well known
voice of Jock Dempster, which now saluted her ear in "the softest,
sweetest tones," not unmixed with a degree of pathos which seemed well
calculated to excite pity.

Men and women, with all their boasted powers of
memory, understanding, and reflection, are very often guided by the
impulse of the moment. Young persons, moreover, and more particularly
those of the fair sex, can rarely return courtesy with coldness, or
apparent kindness with harsh words; and thus it was with Jenny.
Though she could have wished to bid her visitor go hence, she could not
resist his appeal when he asked leave to come in and warm himself;
and, foolish as it may seem, she opened the door.

It would be tiresome to narrate particularly the
conversation which followed. Jenny was not again to be cajoled into
giving him money, and, when he saw that his endeavours in this way were
fruitless, he asked her for a drink of water. With this she readily
supplied him, but the moment he had tasted it he declared it was not
good.

"It is quite warm, I assure you," he said. "Now,
Jenny, couldn't you take one of them jugs and bring me a drink of good
fresh water from the well! It may be the last good turn you may ever be
able to do me in your life; for I may be catched and taken to hade-quarters
and tied up, like one of them cows of yours, to a stake, and shot in a
day or two!"

Jenny disliked the idea of leaving him alone in the
house even for a moment, but she could not resist the piteous appeal
which he had made; the well, moreover, was but a step from the door,
and, taking a jug from the wall, she hastened to comply with his
request. Scarcely had she disappeared, however, when Jock started up
with the quickness, and almost with the noiselessness, of the lightning
which flashes harmlessly on an autumnal evening, and snatching a bunch
of keys from a nail on which they hung, he concealed them in his bosom.
When he had slaked his thirst, he pretended that he must travel a great
many miles before morning, and immediately betook himself to his journey
with all possible speed. He proceeded no farther, however, than a small
plantation at the distance of about a quarter of a mile from the place;
here he lay till the middle of the night was passed, and then cautiously
returned. As he approached the house, he took off his shoes and carried
them in his hand, treading as softly as if the road had been paved with
glass. When he had proceeded a little farther, he lay down, and, by an
ambiguous sort of motion, which he appeared to have practised before,
drew himself along, something after the manner of the serpent. By the
same process he ascended the stair of the auld hay-loft, and
stopped before the door to take from his bosom the bunch of keys with
which he had provided himself in the kitchen. He soon found one to
answer the lock, and checking the throw of the bolt so as not to
produce the slightest noise, he found ready admittance. To find a
passage through the slender partition which separated the place he now
occupied from the house, was an easy task; but even after this had been
effected^ it were difficult to say in what manner he proposed to avail
himself of the advantage he had gained. Other doors, with the keys of
which he was not provided, were to open before he could lay his hands on
any valuable property; and, after all he had done, it is probable the
thing might have turned out only one of those intended burglaries
which are discovered next morning by certain unsuccessful attempts upon
locks, windows, etc., without anything being a-missing.

Here, however, fortune seemed to favour the
depredator; the door of the apartment which he now occupied stood open.
This led him to another, and groping his way noiselessly along the wall,
he came to a second door, which was also unlocked. Here he began to
think it time to try if he could discover something which he could
conveniently carry away. Fortunately, as he thought, his hand touched a
writing desk, the lid of which appeared to be already open, and his
heart bounded at the expectation of a rich prize. But on going round to
the other end of it, what was his surprise, when, instead of money, his
hand laid hold of the arm of a man, who instantly grappled with him, and
tried to throw him down ! Jock was neither very brave nor very daring,
but he struggled manfully to overcome his opponent, without which he had
no hopes of being able to get away. A desperate strife followed, in
which both parties rolled on the floor, while chairs and tables crashed
around them. At last a pistol was fired, which did no harm ; and the
first intruder had drawn a large knife from some concealment about his
clothes, with the intent of inflicting a mortal wound on his antagonist;
but before he could effect his purpose, the united screams of Jenny and
her mistress had brought three or four men to the house, who instantly
flew to the scene of strife with lighted candles, and Jock Dempster and
Peter Hepburn were both easily secured.

Next morning the Sheriff-substitute was busily
engaged in examinations as to the nature of the intended robbery, the
names, occupations, and character of the offenders, and in endeavouring
to procure evidence upon which to commit them for trial. When the devant
soldier was questioned concerning his name, from a conviction that it
was already known to at least one of the witnesses, he gave it readily;
and when questioned farther as to the place of his nativity and his
parents, "I can't say as how I ever knew any of them relations," said
he, "but if you go to Glasgow, Peter------can tell you all about them,
for he has seen them both."

"Ay, ay—it's just as I thought it would be!" screamed
a half-frenzied female voice among the crowd of spectators who had
gathered to witness the scene; and a meanly dressed and squalid-looking
woman, apparently beyond the meridian of life, was seen elbowing her way
to a position where she could have a clearer view of the prisoner. When
she had gained her point, "Peter------" she said, throwing aside a
portion of her grizzled hair which had escaped from under a dirty cap,
and raising her voice to a pitch which seemed to indicate a certain
degree of insanity, "Peter------, that's the man's name I left him wi',
and now the son has been sent by .the hand of God to condemn the
father.—You need not send them to Glasgow for your parents," she added,
addressing the prisoner, "I am your mother, and it is to that wretched
man you owe your birth— Peter Hepburn, as they call him; but that is not
his name, for he called himself Jock Dempster when ye were born."

Need we say more? The father and son were both
convicted upon the clearest evidence, and both were sentenced to
transportation. Susan Anderson, who had lived with the former in the
capacity, without the name, of a wife, and whose reason had been rather
affected by the ill usage and privations which she had already borne,
stunned by the last blow, went deranged, and was afterwards supported by
the parish. Jenny Stewart and Robert Thompson were married some months
after; to their care the poor maniac was committed by the kirk-session ;
and. with them she continued to live till Providence saw meet to take
her away by death. And from her fate it is to be hoped the young will
learn to beware how they form intimacies with dissolute characters, or
with those whose characters are unknown.

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